


Waves, Wipeouts, and Witches

by Cinaed



Series: The Best of Carolina The Teenage Witch [15]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe - Sabrina the Teenage Witch Fusion, Cliffhangers, Day At The Beach, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Sibling Bonding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-17
Updated: 2019-05-17
Packaged: 2020-03-06 15:18:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18853708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cinaed/pseuds/Cinaed
Summary: In a mid-season finale that manages to be funny, sweet, and surprising, everyone ends up going to the beach for Pet Day, and unlikely connections are made.





	Waves, Wipeouts, and Witches

**Author's Note:**

> Well, here it is, the mid-season finale of season two! And just in time for a brief hiatus of my own-- I'm going to be away for a week on vacation, so the next update might take a couple weeks. But I have plans for the next update, don't worry!
> 
> Thanks again to Aryashi, without whom this AU wouldn't exist, and who helps me make this the best fic it can be. 
> 
> Also enjoy the AMAZING art that [creatrixanimi](http://creatrixanimi.tumblr.com) drew for this episode probably about four months ago, but who's counting. I love it so much.

Simmons is being weird. Okay, he’s _always_ being weird. Grif hasn’t hung out with a lot of mortals, but he’s pretty sure most wouldn’t learn about magic and immediately tackle it as a scientific experiment.

This is a different kind of weird, though, like he’s keeping secrets. Grif can’t figure out what he has to hide. He already knows Simmons met with Carolina, because Simmons came home right afterwards and spent a full hour yelling himself hoarse about the Council’s terrible decisions.

His outraged screeching had flattened Grif’s ears against his head and left Grif feeling annoyed about shit that he couldn’t change, especially when Simmons kept looking accusingly at him like he agreed with the Council. Pointing out that he had a less than zero chance of changing the Council’s minds had just sent Simmons off into further outrage. He’d yelled about dictatorships and anti-mortal bias and unfair punishments for the parents and kids.

“How many mortals have been turned to balls of wax?” he’d demanded, his voice cracking. “And then the kids have to live with that guilt for-- for hundreds of years! That’s cruel and unfair and _stupid_!”

Grif knows Simmons is still brooding over it, because every once in a while he’ll huff and puff around the apartment. But when he’s not brooding, he’s being cagey as hell. Grif knows he couldn’t replicate the speed spell a second time, because he griped about that, but otherwise Simmons has being weirdly quiet about his magic experiments for the past week.

It makes Grif nervous. It makes him even more wary when Simmons slides a plate of sausages across the kitchen table to him, his smile an uncomfortable grimace, and says, “Um. So. I probably should’ve asked before, but, uh, do you like the beach?”

“The beach,” Grif repeats. He ignores the delicious-smelling sausages for a second.

“The beach,” Simmons says. He fiddles with his glasses. The uncomfortable smile lingers. “I mean, most people like the beach! And we went all the way to a beach house and then didn’t even see the ocean, so I thought maybe-- it could be fun? And I already bought towels and stuff, so….”

“You want us to go to the beach,” Grif says slowly.

“Yes?” Simmons says, drawing out the word. When Grif keeps staring, trying to process the idea, he looks embarrassed. “Oh crap, you hate the beach, don’t you? This was a dumb idea.”

“No, uh, I like the beach.” That’s an understatement, Grif thinks. He finally takes a bite of sausage so he doesn’t say too much.

Simmons looks relieved, but also a little disappointed, like he was hoping for more enthusiasm. Grif eats another piece of sausage as Simmons says, “Okay, good. I’ll pack up after breakfast and then we can head out.”

Grif makes an affirmative sound around another mouthful of food.

When breakfast is over and Simmons goes off to do his packing, Grif licks the tip of his nose and resists the urge to pace. He’s restless, suddenly. The apartment feels too small now that there’s the promise of sand under his feet-- under his paws, and the promise of the ocean, and the horizon, and salt air. It won’t be Hawaii. He knows that, but he still feels frustrated and impatient and hungry for the beach in a way he hasn’t let himself be in months. It’s stupid to be homesick when he can’t do anything about it, just like he can’t do anything about the stupid Council laws on mortal-witch relationships or Simmons’ soul-killingly awful family.

By the time Simmons grins at him and asks, “Ready?” Grif has himself under control. He even manages an amused, “Yeah. Did you double-check you packed sunscreen? Otherwise your pasty skin is gonna burn.”

“Yes, Grif, I packed sunscreen.”

 

* * *

 

With the windows rolled down, Grif can feel the breeze and sunshine. He can also hear barking. A lot of barking. When he puts his paws against the door and peers out, he sees a large banner fluttering in the wind.

_Happy Pets at the Beach Day!_

Grif stares. He reads the banner a second time, like the letters will rearrange themselves into something less terrible. Then he turns slowly, redirecting his stare towards Simmons, who’s too busy scanning the crowded parking lot for a spot to park to notice his incredulous look. “Simmons. Are we going to Pets at the Beach Day?”

Simmons shrugs. “Uh, I figured it would make us look less weird?”

“Great logic,” Grif says sarcastically. There’s at least five dogs within eyesight. His instincts make him want to bristle, especially when one of the dumb animals barks in his direction. “You know what would’ve been less weird? Coming when no one is here to judge you bringing your cat in the first place! If a dog even looks at me wrong, I’m throwing up in your shoes tonight.”

Simmons frowns, then looks relieved as he spies an open parking spot. He pulls in and says, a trace of annoyance creeping into his voice,  “This is the event’s fifth anniversary, Grif. I’m sure they know what they’re doing. And besides--”

“Oh my gosh, Mr. Simmons!”

Simmons closes his eyes at the delighted bellow of his name. His head dips, like he wants to drop his head to the steering wheel. Then he straightens and turns, a fixed smile on his face. “Hello, Caboose. Did you bring--”

Two huge paws clutch at the window, and then the largest dog Grif has ever seen in his life hauls himself upright, panting happily as Simmons stifles a surprised yelp and concludes weakly, “...Freckles…?”

This is the Caboose he’s heard so much about, Grif thinks, but it’s a distant thought, because every instinct in him has his fur bristling and a low growl building in his throat. The only reason he hasn’t hissed is that Freckles isn’t even looking at him, focused on Simmons.

Caboose laughs and says, “Yeah! Freckles _loves_ Pets on the Beach Day. Freckles, shake Mr. Simmons’ hand!”

“Oh, I don’t think,” Simmons says. He sighs when one hug paw reaches out. He gingerly shakes it. “Hello, Freckles. Wow, you are just, uh, such a huge dog, aren’t you?”

“He’s a Newfie,” a new voice says, and the Wash kid leans around Caboose to grin. “They don’t really come in a small size.” Then he spies Grif. He looks surprised before his smile widens. “Oh, you brought Grif?”

“That’s so nice!” Caboose says excitedly. “Wash brought one of his cats, too. Loki loves to swim.”

“He really does,” Wash says with a nod.

Freckles turns big brown eyes on Grif and pants in his direction. “Meow,” Grif says, putting as much menace into his voice as possible. The dog just woofs softly in response, either unfazed by the threat or oblivious to it.

Simmons laughs nervously. “So you’ve been to Pets on the Beach Day before? Any advice?”

“Just keep Grif on his leash and be ready to pick him up if there’s another pet making him uncomfortable,” Wash says. He disappears from view briefly, and then reappears with a long-haired black cat in his arms. “Most people who bring their dogs here have them well-trained though. You should be good.”  

A _leash_? Grif gives Simmons another long stare, which he pretends not to notice.

“Mr. Simmons is here?” another kid asks, wandering up. He smirks. “Wow, I didn’t think teachers were allowed outside school during the summer.”

Judging by Simmons’ expression, he wasn’t expecting to see so many of his students today. He looks flustered. After a second, he forces a laugh. “Principal Larue gave me a special pass to come to the beach. I don’t think you mentioned you have a pet, Tucker?”

“I don’t, but everyone was going to the beach.”

“Everyone?”

“Hey, Mr. Simmons,” a familiar voice says, and Carolina waves. Beside her, Church wears a blank expression, though his eyes narrow at the sight of them. Carolina, meanwhile, looks slightly amused. “Hi, Grif.”

“Meow,” Grif repeats, getting more annoyed by the second. He doesn’t want to hang out with these kids and keep his mouth shut around mortals.

At least Simmons seems to feel the same way, because he pats Freckles’ head and then says, “It’s good to see you guys. I hope you’re having a good summer! I’m going to get Grif into his life jacket and then maybe I’ll see you guys on the beach.”

First a leash, and now a life jacket? Simmons hadn’t mentioned any of that crap on the drive. Grif narrows his eyes while the kids wander off. As soon as they’re all out of earshot, he hisses, “A life jacket? I know how to swim.”

“As a person, maybe, but--”

“I know how to swim,” Grif repeats, and then licks his nose when the words come out as an annoyed hiss. He ignores Simmons’ look of surprise. He knows how to swim, though. Being stuck as a witch familiar doesn’t mean he’s forgotten a lifetime of living on the beach. The Council can’t take that away from him.

Simmons rolls his eyes. “Okay, you know how to swim, but you’re also, like, toddler-sized.” Before Grif can argue, Simmons flushes. He goes to fiddle with his glasses, forgetting that he’s wearing contacts today, and almost pokes himself in the eye. “And also I, uh, actually called ahead and rented a surfboard, so if we do that, you’ll be in pretty deep water for a cat….”

Grif stares. “A surfboard. Do you even know how to surf?”

Simmons shrugs. “No, but it’s all about balance, right? It shouldn’t be too hard to learn.”  

Amusement replaces about ninety percent of Grif’ irritation. He imagines Simmons trying to surf. He places a mental bet with himself that Simmons is going to wipe out in about five ridiculous ways before he admits this is harder than it looks. He swallows down a laugh. “Uh, yeah. Super easy.”

The life jacket is more comfortable than he thought it would be. It feels a bit like a vest. Grif stretches, testing it out as Simmons takes off the shirt and pants he wore to drive. Grif is amused all over again, because wherever Simmons bought his supplies, he got played. The red and black short-sleeved bodysuit looks professional and sleek, but no newbie needs swimwear that fancy.

Grif holds his tongue and says instead, “Bet you didn’t plan on your students getting another eyeful.”

Simmons flushes. He rubs his hands over his bare arms. He looks about a minute away from finding the nearest shop and buying something less revealing. “Yeah, I didn’t think a third of my chemistry class would be here today. But we’re not hanging out with them, so….”

“Right,” Grif agrees. He puts his paws on the windowsill and hauls himself up and over. The black pavement is hot under his paws, and he does a little awkward dance, hissing and bolting towards the beach.

The sand’s hot but not painfully so. His paws sink into it, and it’s both completely different and entirely like all the other times he’s walked on the beach. The salt air tickles his nose. He takes a deep breath, and then another, that same stupid feelings from earlier welling up. It’s good that cats can’t cry, because the homesickness is like a gut punch.

“Hey, Grif, wait for me,” he hears behind him, but he’s already moving forward, a slow, careful tread as he adjusts to the sand, and then an outright run, towards the water.

He slows when he touches wet sand, his cat instincts flaring up, but he ignores them. The ocean is warm-- not as warm as the water in Hawaii, but enough that he can almost close his eyes and pretend for a second that he’s back home. The tide swirls around his paws, a strong tug that has him resisting the urge to keep going. Only the weight of the life jacket and the thought that Simmons will probably panic if Grif dives headfirst into the ocean stops him from doing exactly that. He prowls at the edge of the water instead, savoring the feeling as the tide splashes him.  

Simmons joins him a minute later. A leash is dangling from his hand. “You’re going to get me in trouble, running around without a leash,” he says, but the protest is halfhearted at best. He looks pleased with himself. “Guess you like the beach after all.”

Grif glances around, but no one’s paying them any attention. He licks the tip of his nose and says vaguely, “Yeah. It’s okay. And don’t worry about it. They won’t kick us off the beach.”

“Pretty sure that’s exactly what they’d do,” Simmons says.

If the water wasn’t still lapping at his paws, the sunshine warm on his back, the salt air in his nose, Grif probably would’ve made a few token protests. Instead he just heaves a sigh as Simmons bends and attaches the leash. He limits himself to a single, “If you try to lead me anywhere, I really will throw up in your shoes.”

Simmons raises an eyebrow. “Why is that your go-to threat now?”

“Do you want to me to threaten all your dumb sweaters instead?”

“No,” Simmons says, holding the leash loosely in his hand. “So what do you want to do?”

Grif glances around. There’s two dogs playing to their left, chasing each other in and out of the water. “Go this way,” he decides, turning right, keeping to the edge of the water.

 

* * *

 

Carolina fights to keep a straight face as she watches Simmons and Grif walk down the beach.

Beside her, Wash crouches and pets Loki, saying, “Gotta say, wasn’t expecting Mr. Simmons here.” The cat purrs, flopping onto the sand and rubbing his face enthusiastically into Wash’s hands.

Tucker smirks. “Come on, dude. We all know he’s weird about his cat.”

Church snorts. “Yeah, no kidding,” he says, pausing in rolling out his beach towel. He limits himself to that, though she’d seen the sourness in his expression when he realized Simmons and Grif were there.

Within eye shot but separate, there’s a controlled chaos happening. Grey, Kimball, Wash’s mom, Caboose’s mom, and a few of Caboose’s older sisters are corralling Wash and Caboose’s sisters, applying last minute sunscreen and hauling out blankets and toys.  

Caboose and Freckles are already in the water. They’re either half-playing, half-drowning each other. Carolina watches Freckles wrap meaty paws around Caboose’s neck and drag him under a wave, loud bark cut off midpoint as they disappear beneath the water. A second later they’re both up and splashing around again.

“Come on, dude,” Tucker says. He nudges Church with a sandy foot, grinning as Church growls and shoves at him. “Let’s go in while Freckles is distracted.”

Church doesn’t move. “Grey and Kimball packed some good snacks. I’m gonna eat first.”

Tucker shrugs. “Suit yourself.” He takes off running, diving into the ocean with a whoop.

Wash grins at Carolina. “I’m taking Loki for a walk. I suggest you get into the water soon, before one of my sisters ropes you into sandcastle duty.” He lowers his voice, still smiling, but sounding serious. “It gets _intense_ between Miranda and Caboose’s sisters.”

“I’ll take that under advisement,” Carolina says, laughing. She pulls her hair back into a loose ponytail, and then glances at Church. He’s already unwrapping a sandwich that she’s pretty sure Kimball was saving for lunch. “Aren’t you supposed to avoid swimming like thirty minutes after eating? You’re at the beach. You’re going to have to go in at some point.”

“Uh huh,” Church says around a mouthful of sandwich.

She wrinkles her nose at him and says, “You’re gross. You know that, right?”

Church grins at her, pieces of the sandwich clinging to the front of his teeth.

Carolina rolls her eyes and walks to the shoreline. She hasn’t been to too many beaches that haven’t been recently damaged by natural disasters. It’s nice. The crowd’s loud, cheerful sounds wash over her. The water’s nice and warm when she tests it with her toes. She steps out deeper until she’s up to her waist and then her shoulders. The end of her ponytail gets heavier, weighed down by water. When Tucker sidles closer, clearly intending to catch her by surprise, Carolina beats him to it, splashing water right into his face.

She laughs as he sputters and wipes at his eyes, then sees a brown blur from the corner of her eye. She turns too late, and gets bowled over Freckles. His paws catch her neck and pull her down and under the water. Just as quickly as he grabs her, he releases her. There’s a brief second where she thinks he’s going to accidentally kick her, but he swims away. She lets herself sink until her back hits the ocean floor, and then pushes herself back up.

When she reemerges, taking a deep breath, she can hear Caboose saying very seriously, “Now, remember, Freckles. We talked about this. You have to ask first if someone wants to play.” She blinks, the salt stinging her eyes, and finds Caboose holding Freckles’ muzzle between his hands. The dog woofs softly, his wagging tail stirring up foam, and Caboose nods and turns towards Carolina. The serious look melts from his face and he smiles. “Are you okay? Sorry, Freckles got excited.”

“Yeah, I’m okay. That’s an...interesting game,” she says.

Tucker snorts. “Yeah, so fun.” Then he throws himself across Freckles’ back, trying to push him down and grinning. Freckles barks excitedly and squirms; Tucker has to drop back or get hit in the face with a rogue wet ear. Immediately Freckles shoves him under the water. “So fun,” he repeats with less enthusiasm when his head breaks the surface again. Then his expression turns sly. “Hey, Caboose. Church should get in the water, don’t you think?”   

Carolina, with the memory of Church chewing noisily and smirking at her, laughs again. “Yeah, I bet he’d want to play with Freckles.”

Caboose’s expression lights up. He pats Freckles’ head. “Okay!”

Carolina swims closer to shore, watching as Caboose ambles over to Church. He speaks in a cheerful bellow. “Let’s swim, Church!”

“Caboose, I don’t want--” Church’s protest switches to a startled yelp as Caboose picks him up and carries him towards the water. “Caboose, put me down, or I’m turning you into-- or I’m going to be really-- Caboose!” The name’s howled in rage as Caboose, beaming, throws him into the water.

There’s a lot of splashing and flailing. A lot more than Carolina was expecting. It’s almost like he’s panicking, though the water’s not that deep. He thrashes around for a few more seconds, stirring up water, until he gets his feet under him and stands, gulping deep breaths as soon as he breaks the surface. He’s still wearing his glasses, but he probably can’t see a thing.

Carolina is close enough to see his jaw working, though he’s apparently wordless. She waits for him to yell or roll his eyes, but he just pushes his wet hair away from his face and takes another deep breath. He _was_ panicking, she realizes with surprise, like he didn’t--

Tucker slings an arm across Church’s shoulders, smirking. He clearly hasn’t noticed anything weird, because he says, “Come on, dude, it’s a rite of passage to get half-drowned by Freckles. Come here, Freckles. Church wants to play.”

Carolina takes a step forward, ready to intervene, but Freckles is faster in the water. He doesn’t do the paw tackle to Church, though. Instead he huffs and pushes at Tucker with heavy paws until Tucker moves away.

Then he nudges at Church’s shoulder with his nose. He nudges again with a low whine when Church doesn’t move.

Church slides his glasses up, blinking fuzzily at the dog. “What do you want?” he mumbles when Freckles huffs and nudges at him a third time. “Fine, whatever.”  

Freckles herds him towards the short, bumping into his back with a determined head-bump until Church is completely out of the water. Then the dog leans up and peers at Church’s face, huffing again. Church stares back and gives him an awkward pat on his head, flinching a little when Freckles barks loudly.

Then Freckles turns back and bounds back into the water, tackling Caboose with a happy bark.

“What was that?” Tucker demands.

Carolina shrugs. “Apparently Freckles doesn’t want to play with Church.”

 

* * *

 

Simmons has a towel and a whole prep kit for the beach, but they’re still in his car. “All I grabbed was the leash,” he says a little dryly. “I’ll get our stuff and the surfboard.”

When Simmons heads off, Grif steals Church’s towel and settles in to watch the show. The kid shrieks as he hits the water, thrown like he weighs less than nothing. No wonder Caboose is the star of the football and wrestling teams. The guy could probably throw Simmons too.

Grif is amused, and then curious, because Freckles sounds agitated as he pushes Church to the shore. Grif can’t talk to other animals, but he understands them better as a familiar, hears undercurrents to the sounds that a mortal or witch would miss.

Freckles’ noises have a weird quality to them. He’s treating Church as a frightened puppy, alternating between huffing reassurances that Church is safe and scolding him for doing something he’s not ready for. When Church is finally on the shore, Freckles barks at him to stay out of the water, and then bounds back in.  

Grif doesn’t realize that Church hasn’t noticed him until he almost gets stepped on. He hisses a little in surprise, and Church jumps, blinking down with salt-encrusted glasses. Glancing around to reassure himself no one’s paying attention, Grif says, “You snooze, you lose.”

Church looks annoyed. He drops down onto the towel like Grif isn’t there, almost clocking Grif in the head. He fumbles with the edge of the towel and tries to clean his glasses. “That’s not how it works and you know it,” he says.

“Whatever,” Grif says. He’d only meant to stay for a minute, annoy Church as payback for messing with Simmons at school. But the Freckles thing was weird. “So why is Freckles treating you like a puppy?”

Church freezes. “What?”

“Yeah. It’s not like the Dolittle spell, but familiars can understand animals a little better. He was treating you like a puppy, one that’s barely old enough to leave his mom. You hang out with a lot of babies or something?”  

Church frowns. “I _knew_ Freckles was being weird! He acts like that every time I’m at Caboose’s house.” He doesn’t answer the question, though, fidgeting with the towel and scrubbing at his glasses in a way that’s probably just going to scratch the lens. After a few seconds he darts a quick glance around and mutters a spell under his breath.

While he’s distracted, Grif sniffs, but all he can smell is salt water and sunscreen. If he smells different to Freckles, Grif can’t pick out the scent. “So?” he says when Church puts on his clean, smudge-free glasses. “What’s up?”  

Church stares at him. “Why do you care?”

Grif twitches his whiskers. “Cat, curiosity, remember? Also I’m bored while Simmons goes and gets our stuff.” He doesn’t add that it’s actually good to talk to someone other than Simmons or that stupid Council stooge. The kid doesn’t need to know that.

Church rolls his eyes. “Yeah, let me just spill all my secrets so you won’t be bored. What do I get out of this conversation?”

“Hey, I already told you that Freckles treats you weird. You owe me something.”

“I definitely don’t,” Church says.

A shadow falls on Grif. Simmons stands there, holding a surfboard awkwardly under his arm and looking torn between curiosity and annoyance. “What are you guys talking about? In public? Where there a bunch of people around?”

“Calm down,” Grif says, yawning. “It’s the beach. No one’s paying attention to anyone else. Worse case scenario, they just think Church is a weird guy who talks to strange cats.” He offers Simmons a slow grin. “Hey, like you!”

Simmons makes a face at him. “Very funny.”

“You’re going surfing?” Church asks. Grif doesn’t even have to look at him to know the guy’s smirking.

“Yes, we are,” Simmons says, readjusting his grip on the surfboard. Church’s smirk widens, and Simmons’ eyes narrow. The two stare at each other for a second before Simmons says, “Come on, Grif.” He fumbles with his tote bag so that he can reach out and loosely grab the leash.

Grif walks away, but he hears Church mutter under his breath, “Now _that’ll_ win big at America’s Funniest Home Video.”

 

* * *

 

Sandcastles really are serious business, Carolina discovers. She watches Miranda and two of Caboose’s sisters stare at each other, cold seething hatred on their small faces. She wonders if she’s going to have to intervene before the hair-pulling and name-calling starts.

“Our castle is better. It’s bigger,” one of the sisters says.

Miranda juts out her jaw. “No, _my_ castle is better. Yours doesn’t have a moat! A castle has to have a moat!”

“No it doesn’t.”

“Yes, it does!”

“I think they both look nice,” Carolina says. This earns her three looks of identical scorn. She sees Wash’s mom approaching, drawn by her daughter’s outraged yell, and decides it time for a strategic retreat of her own, even if she doesn’t have a moat to protect her.

“I told you,” Wash says. He’s finished his walk with Loki, and is drinking a Capri Sun.

“You did,” Carolina agrees. She sits down on his towel, running a hand down Loki’s back and smoothing sand out of the silky fur. Loki yawns, his eyes half-closed, apparently ready for a nap after running around the beach and ferociously attacking the waves when they got too close to Wash.

The sun is warm on her skin. “Maybe I’ll take a nap,” she says, grinning at Wash. Nearby, Kimball is stretched out on a beach chair, sound asleep. Carolina nods in her direction. “Ms. Kimball is.”

“You could,” he says, grinning back. Then his expression changes, just a little. “So what’s that like?”

“What’s what like?”

“Living with family friends. I guess that’s easier than strangers?”

“Oh,” Carolina says, surprised by the question. Wash doesn’t ask too much about her family, not after the first time she hinted that she didn’t want to talk about her parents. She swallows down a laugh, because of course Wash assumes she knew Kimball and Grey when she moved in with them. Who would send their daughter to live with strangers? She glances at Kimball, asleep, and Grey, absorbed in what looks like a raunchy romance novel.

She takes a moment before she answers. It’s not something she’s thought much about, if she’s being honest. She’s been too busy missing her mom, learning about magic, adjusting to high school, and then, much later, panicking over Felix and Locus. But she thinks about Kimball doing movie marathons with her, and Grey cheerfully showing her spells she thinks Carolina will like. They’ve attended every Parent-Teacher conference, adjusted their schedules for her track competitions. They’re both invested in her magical education. They’re both doing the best they can.

It’s not enough. They probably know that too, but it’s better than nothing. She shrugs and says, “It was a weird adjustment, but they’re good people. Though Dr. Grey wants to teach me how to drive and I kind of don’t want to die before I turn eighteen.”   

Wash laughs. “Yeah, good luck with that.” He makes a sudden face. “Oh god. We’re all going to be old enough to drive, aren’t we? Even Caboose.”

Carolina considers that. She pushes aside her relief that he’s not pressing for more. “We’re doomed,” she concludes.

“So doomed.”  

“Doomed to what?” Tucker asks.

“We realized that Caboose is old enough take driver’s ed,” Wash says.

It’s Tucker’s turn to make a face. “No one tell him that. Maybe he won’t figure it out.”

“I think he’ll notice when we all start driving,” Wash says dryly.

Tucker snorts. “Yeah, like half our class won’t fail the test.”

“A test? What test?” Caboose asks, coming up to them.

Loki opens an eye and studies Freckles, but otherwise doesn’t move.

“Uh,” Tucker says. And then, because apparently he can’t come up with a good lie under pressure and Caboose’s curious look, repeats, “Uuuuuh.”

“If it’s the lifeguard test, that’s a very hard one,” Caboose says, nodding. “Abigail had to take it twice before she could be a lifeguard for the community pool, and she’s _really_ smart.”

“Sure, let’s go with that,” Tucker mutters. “Anyway, I’m hungry. You want to eat, Caboose?”

“Okay!”

“Yeah, I could eat,” Wash says. He glances at Carolina. “You hungry?”

“No,” Carolina says. Church is still sitting on his towel further down the beach. He’s far enough away that she can’t tell if he’s eating or not, but she gets up and says, “But I should probably grab some lunch from Church before he eats everything.”  

Tucker snickers. “Yeah.”

When she drops down onto the towel next to him, Church isn’t eating, just staring out at the water. He rolls his eyes and says, “What?” when she leans her shoulder against him. His skin’s warm from the sun.

“So,” Carolina says. She debates what she wants to say, and then just settles on being blunt. “Kind of looked like you couldn’t swim out there.”

She feels his shoulder tense, and then relax. He snorts. His voice is low and sarcastic. “Gee, what gave it away? Was it the flailing or the yelling or Freckles worrying about me like I was drowning standing in four feet of water?”

“Pretty much all of that, yeah,” she says. She hesitates. “That’s not something you remember?”

Her mom had taught her how to swim, holding her and showing her how to float and keep her head above water, the way to kick, what to do if she got caught in the riptide. But her father had been there too, close by, the goalpost that Carolina was learning to swim to. She remembers resting after a lesson, the sun drying her hair into messy, salt-encrusted tangles, watching her mom swim laps around her father and tease him for swimming so slow.

Church frowns, though she can’t tell if it’s at the roundabout mention of her father or over the fact that he doesn’t remember. “No. Some things didn’t transfer over.” He snorts. “This wasn’t a problem I worried about. I thought I could get away with just hanging out on the beach.”

Carolina raises an eyebrow. “Tucker and Caboose are here,” she points out.

“Yeah, okay, it was a dumb plan.”  

“Everyone’s eating lunch,” she says after a minute. “I could, uh, try to teach you?”

Church looks at her then, his eyebrows up and his expression open with surprise.

“Seriously,” she says. When he looks doubtful, she adds, “Just the basics. It can’t be too hard to learn, right? I mean, my m-- I learned when I was five.”

“Yeah, I’m probably smarter than you were when you were five,” Church says. His momentary surprise is gone; he smirks when she shoves at him with her shoulder and says, “Yeah, and maybe not.”

Teaching someone to swim is harder than it looks. She can’t even figure out how to teach him how to float. Every time he leans backwards and takes his feet off the ocean floor, he sinks like a stone and comes up sputtering. After a few times, he starts scowling, though he’s not wearing his glasses, so he’s glaring in her direction and not right at her.

She frowns back. “You have to relax.”

“You relax!” he snaps back waspishly, and sighs. “Right, yeah.”

“Look, just stand there for a minute. Take some deep breaths. I’m right here. I’m not going to let you drown.”

“Maybe don’t talk about drowning when I’m trying to relax,” Church mutters, but another smile twitches at the corner of his mouth. He closes his eyes and takes a few deep breaths. Slowly his shoulders loosen.

Carolina lets him keep breathing like that for another minute, and then she shifts to stand behind him. She tries to remember how her mom had taught her. “Keep breathing. Stay relaxed. Now lean back like you’re laying on a bed. I’m behind you, I won’t let you go under. Just lean back and stretch your arms out towards me.”

Church obeys. He actually floats for a few seconds. Then his legs come up and he kicks hard enough that he almost slams into Carolina. She has to take a few steps back or risk getting punched in the chest.

“Gentle kicks,” she says. She leans a little, grinning down at his upturned face though she knows she’s probably just a smudge of colors to him. All the magic in the world, and witches still need glasses. It’s funny. “Unless you want to try swimming a lap.”

He snorts and then grimaces as a wave makes him rise in the water. As easily as he floated, he sinks again. This time Carolina’s there to catch him, so he only partially sinks to his neck before he gets his feet under him. He steps away, brushing wet hair out of his face. “No, I think floating is enough.”

“Maybe we should sign you up for swimming lessons at the community pool,” Carolina suggests.

Church shoots her a dark look. “No. And if you try to suggest that to Kimball or Grey, I _will_ destroy you. I--” Whatever else he’s about to say gets lost amid urgent barking. A second later Freckles bowls into him and sends him flying.

Freckles whines when Church breaks the surface, sputtering.

“If you’re worried about me drowning, don’t try to drown me!” Church snaps, coughing, and then, when the dog’s expression droops, sighs and reaches out, patting his head. “Yeah, I’m going to the shore, see?”

“Good dog,” Carolina adds, trying not to giggle.

Freckles only stops whining once Church is out of the water.

Tucker and Caboose are there waiting for them. “Seriously, why is your dog so freaking weird about Church?” Tucker asks, and doesn’t wait for an answer. “There’s an ice cream truck further up the beach. Wanna come?”

Carolina already knows what Church’s answer will be. She snorts and heads back to where she can see Wash helping Miranda with her sandcastle. “Have fun.”

 

* * *

 

“Surfing is super easy, huh?” Grif says. If he could smirk, he would.

So far Simmons has mostly paddled them around. The few times he’s tried to stand up, the board had wobbled and he’d hastily dropped back down. Right now he’s got his hands braced on the deck, and is letting the current carry them along.

“Okay, maybe it’s harder than it looks,” Simmons admits.

Grif could mess with him more, but the sun is warm on his back, and if he reaches out, he can dip a paw in the water. “Don’t worry about it,” he says easily. He pitches his voice to the slow drawl try-hard surfers use, unable to resist teasing Simmons just a little more. “There’s only ankle biters anyway.”

“Uh huh,” Simmons says, nodding like he understands. Then again, maybe he does. With his level of nerdom, he probably researched surfer slang while he got himself scammed with that bodysuit and a surfboard that definitely isn’t for beginners.

Then Simmons smiles at him, the pleased look from before. “Glad you’re having fun.”

Grif blinks slowly, too content to pretend otherwise. His tail is probably giving him away anyway, pointing up and radiating his happiness. Even if his tail doesn't, the purring will. “Yeah. Would’ve been better without all the people and pets, but yeah, it’s good.”

Simmons’ smile doesn’t fade, even at the light dig. “Guess we’ll have to come back another time.”

Grif blinks at him again, glad for once that his feline face isn’t as expressive as a human. Otherwise he’d probably be embarrassing himself right now. “Uh, sure,” he says, aiming for casual and probably missing. “Maybe we can rent you a rookie board so you can actually learn how to surf.”

“Maybe,” Simmons agrees. Then he glances up, as if just noticing how high the sun is. “Wait, what time is it? I probably need more sunscreen.”

Grif snorts, eyeing Simmons’ bare shoulders, covered liberally in freckles. “Yeah, dude. Better go reapply, or else you're gonna end up more freckle than man.”

When they get back to the shore, Grif jumps off onto the shallows. The warm water swirls around his paws again, and he can feel round two of purring building in his chest. He flops into the sand, closing his eyes as a wave washes over his paws and lightly sprays his face. The water beads his whiskers, a weird, but interesting sensation. He twitches his whiskers in amusement.

“You should probably come with me while I return the surfboard,” Simmons says above him. Before Grif can draw a breath and mock him for being worried about getting kicked off the beach, Simmons adds, “But just stick close to Church and their group, okay, and run over to them if anyone approaches you?”

“Sure,” Grif agrees, his eyes still closed.

 

* * *

 

 

* * *

 

“David will help me,” Miranda says. By Carolina’s estimation, this is round three of the ongoing sandcastle fight. She stares pointedly at Carolina. “We don’t need you.”

“Miranda,” her mother warns, and Miranda squirms, either from the admonishment or the sunscreen being smeared on her back. “Do we need to pack up and go home early? We can stay another couple of hours, unless you can’t play nicely.”

“Sorry,” Miranda mutters. She scowls down at her feet, though, and it’s obvious that she doesn’t want Carolina’s help. It’s probably valid, after Carolina messed up the second sandcastle moat.

Carolina laughs. She glances at Caboose’s sisters, but they also avoid her eyes. Clearly they don’t want her on their team either. She tilts her head towards Wash and says, amused, “I’m unfit for sandcastle duty. So you have fun with that. I’m going to get in some more swimming.”

“Gee, thanks,” Wash says. When he’s sure his mom isn’t looking, he mouths ‘Traitor’ at Carolina, who laughs again and shrugs before she walks away.

As she heads towards the water, she’s distracted by the sight of Simmons with his surfboard and without Grif. She glances around, but Wash is already digging the third moat, Grey and Kimball are helping Mrs. Caboose apply fresh sunscreen to all the kids, Tucker and Caboose have teamed up to play with Freckles, and Church looks like he’s asleep on his towel.

She jogs to catch up to him. “Hi, Mr. Simmons.”

“Oh, hi, Carolina,” he says, smiling. “Enjoying the beach?”

“Yeah,” she says. She spies Grif at the shoreline, swatting idly at the waves. “Looks like Grif is having a good time.”

Simmons nods. His smile widens. He glances at Grif for a second. “He really is.” Then his expression changes, a familiar mixture of curiosity and concern that she remembers from the woods. “How are you doing?”

Carolina shouldn’t be surprised by the question, but just like with Wash, she’s caught off-guard. She shrugs. “Pretty much the same. There’s nothing new about Felix and Locus. One less week before I can see my mom again.” Her own curiosity and the need to get the concern off of his face make her add, “Did you try the speed spell again?”

Simmons grimaces. She knows he was unsuccessful even before he says, “Yeah, but I haven’t been able to replicate it. I mean, it could be my ingredient. Runner’s breath is a little vague. It might be that I need your breath to do the spell, and me running around for a minute isn’t enough, or--” He shrugs, and then hastily readjusts his grip on his surfboard as it slides in his arms. “I tried it a couple times with no luck.”

“How long did you wait before trying? I said a couple days, right?”

His eyes slide away from her. “Uh-- Yeah! Definitely! Waited a couple days just like you said!” he says. Wow, and she thought Church was a bad liar.

It was on the tip of her tongue to offer her runner’s breath, but the fact that he probably tried the speed spell the next day stops her. She shrugs instead. “Maybe just keep trying small spells for right now.”  

Simmons sighs. The sound is full of repressed frustration. “Yeah. Small spells. That’s the plan. I’ll let you know if any of them work.” Then he brightens a little. “I didn’t think to ask, but you’re learning magic, right? The basics? What sort of spells do they teach beginners? Maybe I should start there.”

“Well, there’s the oranges into apples spell,” Carolina says, remembering the failed oranges carpeting the brownstone living room. Her spell had somehow duplicated oranges instead of transforming them. “Basic transformation stuff. You concentrate and point at an orange and just--” She shrugs. “Really want it to be an apple?”

“And it’s completely transformed? It tastes like an apple?”

She nods.

“Okay, that’s one to try,” Simmons says. He smiles at her. “Thanks.”  He looks tempted to ask more, but then he shakes his head, apparently at himself, and says, “Right. There’s the rental place. I should let you get back to your friends.”

Carolina stops, watching him go. Enough people have walked up to the surfboard rental place that there’s a makeshift path of wet, beaten-down sand. She turns away as he steps up to the window.

Hopefully the great sandcastle battle is finished. Maybe she can get Wash to go swimming one more time before they have to pack up.

 

* * *

 

“Oh no, kitty, did you get away from your owner?” a voice cooes above Grif.

Half-asleep, Grif’s instincts kick in as hands settle around his stomach. He hisses, twisting in the person’s grip, and gives a swift smack to their arm. He keeps his claws in, but only barely. The swat loosens the person’s grip and Grif bolts.

He doesn’t see Simmons. He must still being paling around with Carolina. The only person Grif recognizes nearby is Church.

Church smirks as Grif flops down on the blanket next to him. “So I guess that’s what I owed you: making sure some lady doesn’t cat-nap you.”

“Nope, not how it works,” Grif says. His nose twitches. Church hasn’t been in the water lately, and most of the sunscreen is gone. He’s going to burn if he doesn’t watch himself, but Grif’s too indifferent to mention it. Besides, he smells what Freckles is being weird about. Grif’s cat instincts are clamoring that Church smells like a kitten, like he shouldn't be wandering around without his litter or mother. It makes him think of Kai, that distinct baby smell she’d had when she’d been little. The thought of Kai brings the homesickness back a little, and he sighs. “Dude, seriously, what is up with you?”

Church’s smirk disappears. He looks defensive. “What are you talking about?”

“This is gonna sound weird, but you smell like a kitten. Like the stupid cat things you get as a familiar? Are all telling me that you’re not even old enough to be without your mom.”

Church goes white, and just as quickly as the color left his face, a blush replaces it, turning even the tips of his ears red. “I,” he says, squeaking. “That’s-- Uh.” He grimaces and flops back onto the towel, rubbing his hand across his eyes. “Really thought things would get less weird, eventually,” he mutters. “Guess not.”

Grif shifts so that he’s sitting next to Church’s head. He nudges Church’s arm with a wet paw. “Spill.”

Church doesn’t say anything, just groans under his breath. When Grif nudges him again, he mumbles, “I was trying to do an acne removal spell and it went weird on me, okay? Leave me alone.”

Grif snorts. “Yeah. Good one. Come on, dude, I saw how weird you got the night you tried to talk to your mom--”

“ _She's not my mom_.” Church hisses the words through clenched teeth. He drops his arm to the towel and glares at Grif, a bunch of weird emotions in his bright green eyes. He radiates anger and desperation and a bunch of other feelings that makes Grif’s cat instincts flare.

Grif resists the urge to purr at Church and reassure him that he’s okay. He licks the tip of his nose, trying to get himself under control. “Okay, so what does that mean?”

Church grimaces. “It, uh, it,” he says, clearly intending another lie. Then he sighs. If he was sitting up, his shoulders would slump. He rubs at his eyes again. “This conversation falls under the mutual blackmail thing, right?”

Grif would tease him, but it’s hard enough not to just flop on his chest the way he would with Simmons, purring comfort at him. He settles for, “Sure, kid. Who would I even tell? You and Carolina are the only witches I’ve spoken to in two years, besides the Council stooge checking in on me.”

Church laughs, though it’s strained. “Right.”

He’s quiet for another second. “It’s...complicated,” he says at last, twisting his mouth as soon as the words are out of his mouth. Each sentence is low and uncertain. “Carolina’s father didn’t...he gets dumb when Carolina’s mom isn’t around.” He snorts. There’s a bitter amusement in the sound. “He tried to do a stupid loophole and didn’t like what he got.”  

Grif squints at him. “Uh uh. And that was what, exactly?”

“Me. It was supposed to be a puppet, I think? Something he could stick his mind into. Not technically there, basically like calling through a sculpture. But something went sideways. _Really_ sideways. So instead of a fancy dummy, he got...something that looked like him as a teenager with a bunch of his memories. Dumb, but that's what happens when your spell sucks.” He grimaces. “So, yeah. My body is like nine months old. But I didn't think I _smelled weird_ , urgh, thanks _Leonard_.”

Grif thought he was used to weird shit between Simmons and Kai making it her life mission to be as stupidly reckless with her magic as possible, but this might take the cake. She’s going to be so mad to learn some random witch had stolen her role.

“Huh,” he says after a moment. “Yeah. You weren’t kidding about complicated.”

Church laughs. It’s a sharp, humorless sound. “I’m a person though.” He says it defensively, his eyes darting towards Grif and then away, as though trying to gauge his reaction.

Grif snorts. “Yeah. There’s no faking being a dumb teenager.”

He doesn’t know what about his reaction makes the kid blink at him, his eyes going suspiciously bright for a second before he rolls his eyes and sits up. “I’m not dumb. You’re dumb. At least I’m not a familiar.” There’s no bite in Church’s voice. “Anyway,” he says, clearly ready to change the subject. “I have a business proposal.”

“A business proposal?”

“If we work together, we can win the grand prize at America’s Funniest Home Videos. I mean, a cat riding a surfboard? That’ll get us something. If I could send the video--”

Grif pounces on that last sentence like it’s a mouse. “Wait, what video?”

“Oh yeah,” Church says. He leans over and grabs a camera. He holds it up, wearing a pleased little smirk. “I took some video of you and Mr. Simmons surfing. Well, trying to surf.”  

Grif stares at him. He can feel irritation make his tail twitch, and he sort of wants to box Church’s ears with his paws. It’s annoying to realize that he’d been so distracted that he hadn’t noticed anyone filming him. So much for his cat instincts actually being useful. “Yeah, you’re definitely a dumb teenager. That’s called invasion of privacy. And if you send video of me talking to Simmons, the Council’s gonna knock down both our doors.”

Church looks annoyed. “I’m not stupid. I filmed from the shore, so there’s no sound. It’s just Mr. Simmons almost capsizing you guys a couple times and you being super chill about surfing. Mortals will eat that up.”

Grif turns that over in his head for a minute. It seems pretty sound. And a couple thousand dollars would be good. He could order more pizza. “I want to see the video before you send it off, make sure there’s nothing you missed. Also, since it’s technically me doing the stuff, the split’s 60/40 if we win money.”

Church grins. “Uh, sure, I’ll take sixty percent of the prize. I mean, it’s my camera and my idea.”

Grif wishes he could roll his eyes even as he feels a bit of admiration. The guy’s got Kai’s level of tenacity in making a quick buck. "No, the cut goes to me. Why do _you_ need money? You’re a kid. You just need like pocket change for burgers or something."

Church’s expression does something complicated before he shrugs. “There’s no such thing as too much money.”

Grif could press, but he figures Church has given him enough secrets for one day. He settles himself more firmly on the towel, arranging himself in a loaf. “Smart,” he says. “But I’m still getting sixty percent.”

“What do _you_ need the money for? You’re a cat!”

“Uh, pizza.”

The answer startles a laugh out of Church. “Okay. That’s fair.”

Grif turns his head, flicking an ear, as he spies Simmons walking towards them. Behind Simmons is Freckles, who's barreling out of the sea and heading towards Church's towel. Grif says quickly, getting his feet back out from under him, “Here’s the plan. I’ll sneak out to the apartment parking lot on Wednesday morning, once Simmons is off--” Almost too late, he remembers the kid’s grouchiness about Simmons doing magic. “Is off shopping. Let me look at the video then, and you can send it.”

Freckles darts past Simmons and flings himself down in front of the towel. He turns his big eyes upon Grif and then does a full body twitch when Grif says, “If you get any closer, I _will_ hit you.” The dog whines a question, clearly confused why something that smells like a cat is talking to him like humans do. He whines again, looking between Grif and Church.

“Please don't break Freckles’ brain,” Church says, reaching out and patting Freckles’ head. “I don't want to deal with a sad Caboose.”

“Meow,” Grif says sarcastically.

Freckles gives him a long, doubtful look and then sighs, leaning into Church’s hand and almost knocking Church over with his huge bulk.

“Hi,” Simmons says, shooting Church a nervous smile. When Church ignores him, he sighs and turns to Grif. “There’s an ice cream truck that sells some snacks. Did you want something before we leave?”

Grif ignores the pang in his chest at the thought of leaving. He sidles around Freckles. “Uh, obviously. What kind of ice cream are we talking here?”

“No ice cream. You’re not eating it in my car, and I’ll get some seriously dirty looks if I sit in the parking lot feeding my cat ice cream.”

“Simmons, you’re killing me,” Grif whines. “You can’t mention ice cream and not deliver!”  He’d say more, but he spies Caboose and Tucker heading their way. “Meow,” he says again as Simmons opens his mouth to speak.

Simmons sighs and bends down, leash dangling from his hand. “We’ll get chips now, and then we still have a pint of Rocky Road at home,” he whispers under his breath as he attaches the leash to the life jacket.

Grif would tell him that beach ice cream is clearly superior than freezer ice cream, but Caboose bounds over and crouches down to Simmons’ eye level. He grins.

“Hey, Mr. Simmons! Hi, Grif! Are you guys having a good time?”

Simmons smiles back. “Hi, Caboose. We did. We’re just about to leave.”

Caboose nods. “I think we’re leaving soon too. Have a safe drive back!”

When they get in the car, Simmons opens up a bag of chips for Grif. He sets it on the passenger seat and then asks in a casual tone that’s actually the opposite of casual, “So what were you talking to Church about?”

Grif paws at the bag, hooking a chip with a claw. He buys himself a second to think about how pissed Church would be if he told Simmons his secret as he eats the chip. Then he says, mimicking Simmons’ tone, “Depends. What were you talking to Carolina about?”

There’s a beat of silence. They both stare at each other, and then Simmons concedes with an amused huff of breath. “Right.” They’re about halfway home when he says, apropos of nothing, “You know, I might stop at the grocery store. I’m in the mood for oranges.”

 

* * *

 

“Wake up,” Kimball says.

There’s a gentle hand on Carolina’s shoulder, lightly shaking her awake. She blinks drowsily up at Kimball, who looks amused. “I fell asleep?” she asks, her voice thick, and sits up as Kimball nods.  

Next to her, Church is drooling against the windshield. When she leans over to shake him awake so that Kimball didn’t have to go to the other side of the car, she realizes he missed a spot with his sunscreen. There’s a faint red to the tip of his shoulder. She avoids that, shoving at his arm until he jolts awake.

“You two slept pretty much the whole ride,” Grey says cheerfully. She giggles. “Hopefully that nap doesn’t disrupt your Circadian rhythms! Though I suppose if there’s a time to disrupt that rhythm, it would be summer.”  

When they get inside, leaving their sand-filled shoes on the steps to mess with later, Kimball makes a beeline towards the television.

There’s a trace of frustration in Grey’s voice as she sighs and says, “Oh, Vanessa, really? Can’t we have one day without seeing Dylan Andrews?”

Kimball pauses. She was relaxed a minute ago. Now tension returns to her face, muted a little when she smiles wryly. “Two minutes, and we’ll find another channel. Besides, it’s going to be the same old--”

“Breaking news! Three hours ago, there was a confirmed sighting of the fugitives Felix and Locus!”  

The artificially calm words hit Carolina like an unexpected slap. She sucks in breath, sees Church do the same, his face blanching. All four of them stare at the screen.

The reporter speaks in a calm, professional tone, only the way she leans forward towards the camera revealing some of her feelings. “According to video coming out of the Olympus Mons on Mars, Felix and Locus were sighted on the slopes.”

 _Mars is where all the good stuff is_ , Felix says in Carolina’s memory. It feels like he’s whispering in her ear. Queasiness washes over her, so strong that she almost misses the reporter saying, “In a moment we’ll play you the video, and then go live to a speech by Malcolm Hargrove, Subhead of the Witches Council.”

The video is grainy, but still clear enough that Felix and Locus are recognizable even before Felix spies the camera. He waves gleefully in its direction, and Carolina just picture the smirk stretched across his thin lips. When he throws a knife that shatters the lens, she can’t bring herself to be surprised.

The reporter reappears on the screen. “For those of you just tuning in, Felix and Locus were confirmed to be skiing on the slopes of the Olympus Mons. When Council members arrived to take them into custody, both men had vanished. We now go live to Malcolm Hargrove, Subhead of the Witches Council.”

The man who appears on the screen is ancient. Carolina knows that witches live a crazy long time, but she’s never really thought of them aging, even if her father has streaks of silver in his hair. This man must be at least a thousand years old. The years have shriveled his features, his eyes sunken into his face so that he looks almost like a corpse.

His lips part. His smile is meant to be reassuring, Carolina thinks, but it just makes her stomach lurch even as she wonders why his name sounds so familiar. His voice is at odds with his features, warm and soothing.

“Hello to this great community of witches. I know you must have questions and concerns. I myself have similar ones. The Council and Drel are doing their absolute best to find Felix and Locus. But I understand that the lack of progress has been frustrating. It might even make you doubt the strength of the Council, but I promise you there is no need for doubt. The Council will find Felix and Locus. They will see these murderers behind bars and away from the public once more. To set your minds at ease, I, in my power as the Subhead of the Council, have created a task-force that will be solely dedicated to this threat. Together, I know we will find them and stop their reign of terror once and for all.”

The news cuts back to the reporter, but Carolina can’t hear what she says. Her ears are ringing. She looks at Kimball and wishes she hadn’t, because Kimball looks _furious_. Carolina licks her lips. “Why--” Her voice catches in her throat. Church shoots her a warning look, his eyes wide and worried behind his glasses. She swallows and tries to get herself under control. “Why can’t the Council find them? I thought they were supposed to be powerful. Isn’t there a spell?”

“There are scrying spells,” Grey says. “But generally they need something that belongs to the person they’re seeking to guarantee a successful casting. I’m sure that Felix and Locus burned their belongings after they escaped Pluto.”

That must’ve been what Felix and Locus were up during that week before Felix had come back to Westbridge, Carolina realizes. They were getting rid of anything the Council could use against them.

“And there are anti-scrying spells to ensure that scrying spells without a focus fail.”

Grey glances around the room, her gaze resting on all three of them, but lingering on Kimball. Her brow creases, but her voice is still filled with the familiar manic cheer as she adds, “But this isn’t something you two need to worry about. Try not to let the news ruin your day! James, I think you got a little bit too much sun, so get a cold, damp towel and apply it to your skin. Oh, I should have some aloe vera in my supply closet as well. Carolina, would you get that for him?”

It’s a clear dismissal, but Carolina doesn’t argue.

“Carolina--” Church says, once they’re upstairs.

She just shakes her head. There’s a lump in her throat. If she tries to talk about it, she’s probably going to yell, just like Kimball downstairs, her angry voice muffled, is trying not to do.

She goes to her room and then closes the door very slowly and carefully instead of slamming it. The last thing she sees is Church’s worried face. Then she clenches her fists and takes a deep, shaky breath. She hates this, how helpless and guilty she feels. She hates Felix and his awful smirk. She hates his stupid knife--

Carolina stops. “His knife,” she says slowly, testing out the sound of it. Technically it was a gift to her, but he made it. It’s his spell. Would that be enough for a focus? She can’t turn the knife over to the Council without getting questions she can’t answer, but she can do something. She takes the knife out of the closet. It’s a now-familiar weight in her hand. Her reflection smiles at her from the blade, her expression almost as sharp as the knife’s edge.

“His knife,” she says again. This time it sounds like a threat.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry, readers, no Honorable or Dishonorable Mentions this time. Anything we want to talk about would be a spoiler for the second half of the season, so you'll have to wait until the next episode discussion!


End file.
